


Summer Festival Morning

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Festivals, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 15:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19176136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Noctis isn't one for the big crowds or the royal duties, but its the small things that make it all tolerable.





	Summer Festival Morning

“It’s too hot.”

“Are you going to whine this whole time?”

“Yes.”

The summer came like a stone dropping into a nice cool puddle. When the rains of spring had washed off the last remnants of the chill winter ice and bleaching city salt, Noctis had looked out his window to see that summer had settled in with its leafy green canopies covering the avenues and the baking sun burning across the open streets lined in glass and chrome. The neon of the city lights and signs was lost against the blazing sun, and stifling, sudden heat. The dust storms of Leide threatened Insomnia’s barriers, coating the edges of the fortifications a sickly sandy yellow; and the reds dusts of Cavaugh menaced the other corner of the city with a rusted dusting that Noctis thought looked like old blood staining the pristine walls of that corner of the city. 

But in this stifling, smothering, Lucian everyone flocked to the beaches and pools and the green areas that lined the verdant farms that fed the city. Undeterred by cloudy mornings or threats of rains, the docks harbour and its surrounding beaches were full. 

Noctis would have rather been there. 

He could pass it off as wanting to ‘be among his people’, but really, the noise of the beaches and the harbour and the churning waters of the swimmers desperate for relief from the heat just drove the fish to a nice little shady cove he preferred. 

Not that he was opposed to lounging on a beach with his friends, but there was a nice peace that came with the perfect fishing spot sheltered from the weather and shaded from the sun. 

Instead, he was fussing with a tie he did not want to be wearing, in a suit he absolutely did not want to be wearing, preparing for a speech he did not want to be attending. 

“You can get changed after the opening ceremony,” Gladio grumbled as he swatted hands away from the tie. He had been dressed and ready to go an hour ago, his own suit finely cut but with better mobility. None of the stuffy expectations that dragged Noctis down to the heat of the summer day. “It’s only an hour, tops. I’ll buy you ice cream.”

“You can’t just bribe me with ice cream,” Noctis let his hands fall to his side as Gladio fixed his tie; “I’m not a kid.”

“I told Clarus the same thing,” came from the doorway, where Regis stood in his far more elaborate royal regalia. The heavy suit and its decorations carried as if it was a light summer festival robe, and not threatening to suffocate him in the heat. “And then I asked for strawberry.”

“Do I really need to be there, Dad?”

“Yes,” Regis offered a smile, and a little not to Gladio as the Shield stepped away from his prince. “But only for a few moments.”

They would leave the Citadel together, a united front in all things for the small army of photographers and journalists and the people beyond the press pits. They would stand, with their respective Shields at their backs, together to greet the festive morning. 

A week had been spent decorating the grand avenue that approached the towering Citadel. Speakers that would be blaring the festive music, the announcements, the schedules and speeches had been mounted on the lamp posts and buildings. Noctis had watched them be placed from his apartment balcony through the week, long, durable strings of garland emblazoned with the Insomnia and Lucis insignias stretched between each cradle fastened around him. In his apartment, he could see the decorations much better; blues and golds for the Founder King, black and greys for the rest of his line. 

Now, from the little stage that had been prepared, all of the preparations seemed almost subdued. The shutter of a hundred cameras was almost deafening as their show commenced. To the public, it would appear that he was aiding his father along the walkway— a dutiful son with his arm steady to help his father. But Regis had leaned in close, had taken advantage of the expectation of weakness and frailty, to mutter his own commentary to his son. 

“I wanted the balloons again.”

“You mean those giant, hideous things that cost a fortune,” Clarus offered behind them. 

“They weren’t hideous,” Regis indicated the avenue, and Noctis knew the gesture would be across every magazine and newspaper in the kingdom before the evening; “we could have them lined up right along the avenue.”

Noctis offered his own smile, “Why didn’t you?”

A long suffering sigh from his father before he released his hold on Noctis’ arm; “They were expensive, and hideous.”

“We got the lanterns I wanted though? For tonight?”

“Yes. Including the fish shaped one your Shield complained about.”

“Great.” Noctis stepped back as his father stepped forward, the speeches and opening ceremonies prepared months in advance. He had his own mark to stand on— the perfect spot to be the photogenic Crown Prince that was expected, where he would seem a mirror to his father’s decorum and calm when the pictures were published. 

The sun was already high above them, a glaring, blazing light to cause the camera lenses to glitter around them. The heat was stifling, and Noctis resisted the urge to conjure a shard of ice in his hands to quietly hold against his wrists. He could see Ignis moving through the crowd, his upright hair a shark’s fin in the sea of guests as he made his rounds with his tablet and communication system. He saw the Glaives moving like shadows along rooftops and along the edges of the plaza, and some familiar Glaives in plain clothes as the speech droned on to the applause of the crowd. 

And there was Gladio, half a step behind him. His own shadow in the news, overlooked and ignored despite his constant presence. A large hand pressed to the small of his back in reassurance, and Gladio leaned down ever so slightly. To an outsider, it would look like his Shield was giving him an update, a time, some imperative, crucial information that was needed to keep the event going. 

“Chocolate? Or matcha?”

“Mango,” Noctis smiled at the question as it was muttered to his ear. “There’s a gelato place Iggy said was good.”

“He would know. If that dumb joke his Majesty threw in gets an actual laugh, I’ll buy you dinner too.”

“It’s a good joke.”

Later, when the sun finally dipped low enough, Noctis would address his own crowd. He wouldn’t need the suit and tie, and there would be the chance to rest in the shadows of the Citadel as dusk approached. And the lanterns would be raised high above Insomnia, while the main avenue’s lights dimmed for the spectacle. Noctis leaned back to Gladio’s touch as he thought of the cooler night chasing on the heels of the stifling heat. 

“I have a joke for my own speech.”

“I’ll buy you dinner if you don’t tell it.”


End file.
